The Tequila in the Anthropologist
by Skole
Summary: A slightly quirky take on the aftermath of Ep 100. Bones has hurt Booth and comes to terms with why she feels pain too. How can she even begin to apologise? Can tequila defy insanity? Will Sweets live? My first fic, so be gentle! Pass the tequila please!
1. A peace offering

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Disclaimer: **Nope, don't own Bones. Bartender, just leave the Tequila bottle...

Angela Montenegro's spidey sense had begun tingling the moment she entered the Anthropology Unit of the Jeffersonian Institute. She put this to the back of her mind at the start of the day, on account of arriving 20 minutes late. Fortunately, Cam was mid-conference call with another institute three time zones away, missing Angela's tardy arrival. Angela gave silent thanks and made a 'note to self' to light another candle at her password-protected virtual George Clooney shrine, securely located within the Angelator.

The morning after any session with Sweets was guaranteed to be worth some entertaining conversation with Bren, and today was no different. Angela got straight to work on finishing the reconstruction job that Bren had wanted some tissue thickness modifications made. With any luck, she could legitimately interrupt Bren and drag her up to the Mezzanine floor for coffee and a blow-by-blow rendition of the latest episode of _'Sweets versus the Dynamic Duo'._

10:45 a.m.

Angela swept right into Brens' office with the completed reconstruction ready for sign-off.

"Sweetie? Would you prefer to go over these changes now, or after a coffee-break?", asked Angela, placing the completed work of art on the desk.

"Now will do", replied Bones in her most monotone and distracted tone, whilst attaching a gift card to a bottle bag.

Of course, Angela is as single-minded about unidentified gifts as her best friend is about unidentified human remains. Within 1.3 seconds, the contents of the tasteful gift bag were identified and the details of the inscription on the card were processed. The commentary began almost simultanously.

"Ooh. A gift!...a bottle of Patron Silver...Tequila, verrrry nice. _'I am so very sorry. How can I begin to apologise?'_...Bren, did you upset Sweets again? Is he even old enough to drink this stuff?"

Bones focused on the reconstruction in front of her, fixing it with her intent stare and checking the finished product against each of the technical changes she had requested. In true Temperance Brennan style, she reserved a small portion of her giant intellect to keeping up her end of the conversation with Angela.

"Yes Ange, we did upset Sweets last night. He even suggested that his book was ruined, although I suspect that he was being overly dramatic. This gift is not for him though. Angela, the reconstruction is really excellent work. I will sign this off immediately and we can have some coffee upstairs as you suggested." Bones rose from her desk and strode towards the door as she announced her intentions.

Angela paused, then followed her friend toward the stairs, preparing her next series of questions for Bren. Some junior interns saw the approach of their _Anthropology Idol _and risked permanent oesophageal tissue damage by gulping down their hot beverages. They hastily vacated the couches of the mezzanine area as previously instructed by Mr Nigel-Murray, who had already survived two tours of duty at the Jeffersonian with Dr. Brennan.

Bones remained oblivious to all of this activity and focused on pouring coffee into two oversized mugs, handing one to her artistically gifted friend. Angela wore a wide smile and settled herself into a deceptively relaxed-looking pose, poised to sip her coffee, and fired off the next question; aiming straight to the heart of the matter.

"So. Who _is_ the tequila for, and _why _are you sorry Bren?", asked Ange.

"The tequila is for Booth", replied Bones bluntly. "I am apologising for upsetting him".

Giving up all pretence of relaxation, Angela sat bolt upright, slopping coffee over the lip of her mug, ignoring the drips falling onto her new boots. Angela _'Pearly Gates' _Montenegro was speechless, her jaw dropped so far that Bones could see the excellent condition of her lower molars. Misinterpreting the silence from Angela as an invitation to elaborate further, Bones went on.

"Our session with Sweets was very confronting. We discussed our very first case. Sweets challenged Booth to 'break our circle' and tell me how he really felt. We left the session to go and eat, and on our way to dinner, Booth followed Sweets' advice and he told me he wanted 'us' to work." Tears started involuntarily welling up in her eyes and began trickling down her face, dripping into her coffee mug. He kissed me. I kissed him. When we kissed, it was just like it was in the beginning. But I told him, I couldn't do it to him..."

Temperance Brennan was snapped from her vivid recollection of the taste of Seeley Booth on her lips, by the loud shattering of a coffee mug, dropped by Angela, which was followed by a strangled shriek.

Meanwhile, Special Agent Seeley Booth was reading the card attached to the gift bag on the desk of his partner, when he was distracted by the sound of smashing crockery.

**So...do you want more?**


	2. Nothing says 'I'm sorry' like tequila

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Disclaimer: **Nope, don't own Bones. If I did, there would be a b!tchslappin'-fest starting right about now. Waiter...! Where is my Margarita???

**Chapter 2**

10:45 a.m.

Special Agent Seeley Booth was feeling anything but 'special' as he arrived at The Jeffersonian Institute. His parting words to Bones last night had been spoken on autopilot and had included some bland reference to catching up for paperwork and lunch today. He felt hollow. Hell, who was he kidding? He felt like some squint from the Egyptology Department had used one of those evil-looking Mummy brain-removing hooks and ripped his guts out...through his ass. Booth had been a light sleeper for the majority of his adult life, but had never suffered insomnia like he had last night. His eye sockets had turned to the consistency of sandpaper and fatigue was making his skin feel freaky, as if he had a case of mild sunburn, all over.

Booth arrived at the main doors of the lab and strode through, taking a deep breath, pulling his body out of the slouched posture that he knew that Bones would pounce on at 50 paces. He arrived at her office door, which stood open. Bones was nowhere to be seen, but if the door was open, she was around, so Booth planned on sticking around until she got back. Closing his eyes, Booth took a deep breath; familiar scents provided evidence of exactly where he was, precisely who occupied this space. Footsteps outside the office made Booths' eyes snap open. He saw a gift bag on the desk and took the two steps toward the desk that would permit a closer inspection.

A bottle of tequila.

A note in Bones' familiar scrawl.

'_Geez Bones! You've gotta be kidding me...' _thought Booth.

The wastebasket beside the desk contained the brown paper bag from the liquor shop and a couple of dozen scrunched up damp tissues. His fingers drifted toward the card on the gift bag containing the tequila, as he read the note on the card.

_'I am so very sorry. How can I begin to apologise?'_

Booth shook his head and smiled to himself, running his fingers through his hair. Only Bones could say it with hard liquor. She probably didn't even know what a Hallmark card was.

A sudden crash echoed through the lab, followed by a strangled sound of someone in pain. Booth was out of the office, hand on holster, and taking the stairs to the Mezzanine three at a time as his instincts and training kicked in, and identified the direction and vector of the disturbance. He noted the heads and torsos of squints popping out of doorways and above pieces of expensive lab equipment, looking for all the world like the meerkats from the Animal Channel that had maintained the sleepless vigil with him last night.

Within six seconds he was surveying the scene. Angela looked very pale, with her dark eyes wild and wide with shock, both hands on her chest, and clearly struggling to breathe. Bones was on her knees in a puddle of coffee in front of Angela oblivious to the liquid soaking into her slacks and the shards of stoneware that were digging into her shins. Bones was trying to snap Angela out of whatever state she was in. Booth saw Bones raising her right arm in preparation to deliver a slap to the left cheek of her best friend.

"Whoa there Bones", said Booth as he jumped into the situation and placed a restraining hand on her arm to prevent the slap. "I've been on the receiving end of one of those babies, and trust me; you could put Angela in the hospital."

Several blue and grey coated junior squints were converging on the source of all the commotion. Booth raised his voice, and in his best crime scene commanding tone bellowed:

"Okay squints. False alarm! Nothing to see here people. Move on".

People in lab coats jumped, recoiled and were drawn back to workstations by a force that mimicked a strong magnet. The booming baritone of Booth also made Angela startle out of her shocked state and grab onto his left wrist.

"Booth. Please tell me that Sweets is still alive...because I plan to kill him", Angela announced as she turned to place her right hand gently on the cheek of her best friend. "Bren. Seriously? A bottle of tequila... I thought that Booth preferred whiskey?"

Booth grimaced and glanced at Bones, who had dark circles under her eyes that put his own dark circles of fatigue to shame. He smoothed his face to a neutral mask just in time for their eyes to meet.

"Oh yes, Seeley prefers _Johnny Walker_. The scotch inside the man, inside Intensive Care", drawled Camille Saroyan as she arrived to break up the party.


	3. Angela considers a contract

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bones. If I did, I would be very concerned about the large number of fans howling for my blood right now!

Dr. Camille Saroyan had days when she felt like she was the ringmaster of a three-ringed circus under a tatty tent in a field, 30 miles past the city limits of Nowhere. Today was one of those days. Within the confines of her own cranium, Cam conceded that she did play a supporting role contributing toward the current shenanigans at the Jeffersonian, and this had provided an extra special atmosphere in the lab today. Where Seeley and Dr. Brennan were concerned, not much escaped her notice. Cam was, after all, the administrator of the joint Jeffersonian / FBI pool that speculated on possible outcomes of the convoluted relationship between Seeley Booth and Dr. Brennan. The interest being earned on the current betting pool was being used to sponsor five children in developing countries. Dr. Sweets had originally suggested this course of action to Cam last year, to '_deliver a healthy ethical outlet from a highly unethical practice.'_ That hypocritical smartarse had just placed another wager last week too, probably as part of Daisy Wicks' dowry price. Cam mused that Lance Sweets didn't even look old enough to gamble, even though he took out the FBI Fantasy Football League honours last year.

Angela Montenegro was quickly 'composing herself' after her meltdown on the mezzanine a few minutes earlier. It was clear that Angela been stunned by some revelation from her best friend, but in the interests of order, Cam had suppressed the flow homicidal threats from Angela toward Sweets with a raised hand and eyebrow. She also suggested that Dr. Brennan take Angela downstairs and perhaps take action on the two large coffee stains on the her lower legs.

Dr. Brennan, who had stood to escort Angela downstairs, leaned her torso forward and looked down at her ruined slacks in surprise. Spying a shard of pottery sticking out of her leg, she noted in a detached fashion, that it was embedded in the region of her tibial tuberosity and pondered why the darn thing only began to sting the precise moment she laid eyes on it. She pulled the shard out and involuntarily hissed at the sensation. A blood stain blossomed, joining its coffee counterpart.

"I will go and remove my pants Dr. Saroyan". This elicited an involuntary groan from Booth. "Booth? Would you mind getting my overnight bag from the trunk of my car? There are some jeans in there", said Bones, as she reached into the pocket of her lab coat and tossed her keys toward him.

"Sure thing, Bones", replied Booth, snatching the keys out of the air. "I, err..., e-mailed those draft reports over, so we can...umm..." His voice trailed off as their eyes met and an aftershock of the pain of a few short hours ago returned with a vengeance. The silence stretched for a few more awkward moments as they both fought to break eye contact and began to visibly compose themselves. Bones, _Supreme Grand Ninja Master of Compartmentalisation_, recovered first and turned to go downstairs. Booth looked down at the keys in his hand and remained partially stunned. Cam placed a hand on his arm.

"So. You finally told her, huh Seeley?", commented Cam in a low voice, so that the intern that had arrived with the cleaning cart would not overhear.

"Yup" said Booth. His tone and demeanour speaking volumes, making it obvious to Cam that something pivotal had occurred and the outcome was going to change the odds, just like when Dr. Brennan had announced her intention to have a child with Booth, in the middle of a busy forensics platform.

"From the way Dr. Brennan just looked at you and the signs of extreme fatigue that you are both showing today, I would guess that matters are unresolved", said Cam.

"She couldn't. Couldn't do it to me. Wouldn't take a chance. I'm moving on Cam, this is killing me..." said Booth, placing a hand on his forehead, his voice getting hoarse with emotion. "I shouldn't have listened to Sweets. We'd just rehashed the very first case. You remember that one..."

"Hard to forget Seeley. You _fired_ the Jeffersonian Institute ..."

"Yes I did, Cam. Caroline made me do it. Told me to _'get her drunk first.'_ Hell. I had to get drunk myself just to work up the nerve..." said Booth with a hint of a smile at the memory.

Cam tilted her head slightly and said, "I'm going to take a leap here Seeley. It was tequila that night, right?"

His smile widened some more and then he froze as the pieces started to fall together. As usual, Bones had used her super-brain to identify the solution and had absolutely no clue how to implement it. "Oh yes. It was tequila... Bones...gotta go Cam. Thanks!"

As Booth moved quickly toward the staircase, Cam shook her head slowly, smile twitching on her lips, whispering under her breath, "Seeley...you are welcome".

**A/N. Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement. To help us all through this tough period, I would like to offer sustenance to reviewers. Virtual cookies to you all! I'm going to have a virtual tequila shot – for artistic purposes of course – because Brennan and Ange are next up & Booth on his way, but of course I wouldn't dream of promoting this kind of behaviour to others **


	4. I said STOP Clottin' time

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 4**

**Disclaimer: **Nope. I do not own Bones. I am simply providing a vital community service to a whole bunch of shell-shocked fans.

**A/N: There is now a shortage of virtual agave plants (used to make virtual tequila). If I keep this up, I will be hitting the real stuff ****. Thanks for the reviews and alerts – it is all a little surreal for a newbie...**

Dr. Temperance Brennan, World Famous Anthropologist and Best Selling Author, was sitting on the couch in her office - attempting to tear the package of a bandaid open with her teeth whilst trying to stem the flow of blood from the puncture mark just under her right knee with a gauze pad from the open First Aid kit beside her. She examined the now ruined slacks that she had thrown on the floor. Having only worn them twice, she felt that this was a waste, but rationalised that while it may have been worth cutting off the legs to make a serviceable pair of shorts ten years ago, it was a futile course of action, given the seven figure balance of her bank account.

Bones was multi-tasking like a Pro, as usual, by using another part of her brain to count 180 seconds. This was the time that she had calculated to be sufficient to achieve haemostasis of the puncture wound that had been made by kneeling on a shard of coffee mug. Removing the gauze pad, she peered at the wound to see if the bleeding had stopped. It looked fine, but Bones could not visualise the wound fully so she straightened out her leg and gave a growl of frustration as it started to ooze again. The bead of blood was getting bigger and threatened to run down the side of her leg and drip onto the expensive rug, which was not acceptable. She scooted back a little further onto the couch and grabbed another gauze swab to apply more pressure and discarded the bandaid, realising that a small dressing and bandage would be required, unless she planned to stay immobile on the couch for the next few hours. Without any pants on. Booth would be making many jokes at her expense...Booth. The wave of pain hit her again and she curled up in shock, releasing the pressure over her wound again for a moment. A small rivulet of blood trickled down her shin. As warm, wet tears dripped onto her exposed thighs she wondered why she was unable to suppress the pain that she knew was emotional. Just like it was that first Christmas morning...

"_Tempe! Open the damn door," yelled Russ._

"_Russ. Go. Away." She heard herself say. The sound of her voice was muffled by the comforter that she had pulled over her head to hide her loss of control from the world. "Marco? I need to be alone for a while"._

"_Okay Tempe. Have it your way for now. But refusing to open your gifts won't change our situation." She heard Russ going back downstairs again. "Polo." Drifted up the stairs, a parting shot from her brother._

_She realised that Russ was upset too. She couldn't make it worse for him. She had to deal with it. Trying valiantly to suppress the anguish, the sobs of frustration began. It hurt, everywhere..._

Bones heard sobbing sounds. She realised that the source of those sobs was herself. She took several calming breaths and rubbed at her face with the sleeve of her lab coat which she had thrown over the back of the couch.

Pushing Russ away, her only remaining source of unconditional love and genuine affection, had been the hardest thing she had ever done. Until she did the same thing to Booth. All those years ago, her bedroom door had been closed and she had buried herself under that comforter, she had not seen the sadness in the face of her brother as she withdrew into the safety of her rational mind and drove him away. But two decades later, even providing Booth with words that articulated the best scientific rationales to support her choice, she didn't need tutelage from Sweets to recognise the sadness and pain that her words caused. It was cause and effect. She caused that pain for Booth and observing the effect was the root cause of her own pain.

"Bren? I brought you this washcloth to clean up your leg..." Angela paused as she reached the couch and saw the state of her best friend. Holding out the cloth, she said, "Sweetie. I think you should use this for your face." Ange sat down on the couch and placed an arm around Brennan.

Some serious girl talk was required.


	5. The tale of an indecent proposal

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 5**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bones. No infringement or offense is intended. Besides, imitation is said to be the most sincere form of flattery.

**A/N: Thanks again to all those reading and reviewing. The stats section on my profile only started working today, which for a person trained as a data analyst is more painful than you can imagine...**

Brennan took the tissues that were handed to her and blew her nose again. Her head was resting on the shoulder of her best friend after Ange had embraced her in comforting hug, waiting for her sobs to subside. When her breathing had settled, Ange picked her moment to speak and decided to start with the practicalities first.

"Bren? Booth is going to be here soon with your clothes, so how about washing your face with this cool cloth? I'll keep some pressure on this wound and we can sort it out in a minute or two, okay?"

Brennan simply nodded her assent and extracted herself awkwardly from the embrace and sat up, taking the cool damp cloth and letting Angela keep the pressure on her knee. The cloth worked wonders for Brennan, removing ruined cosmetics and providing relief for her overworked tear ducts and swelling eyes. Although there was no mirror handy, Brennan knew that she would look similar to what she observed when she looked in her bathroom mirror this morning – that is to say, not great.

"Thank you Ange," said Brennan. It was loaded thanks, which conveyed a lot to her observant friend. "I believe that my words and actions last night hurt Booth, Ange, badly. I am going to apologise, which is counterintuitive because I spoke the truth, but I realise that I caused distress, which is regrettable. In retrospect, simply reacted, ignoring all of the things that I have learned since meeting him. You know that when I react I am rarely subtle..."

"That's for sure Sweetie," commented Angela. _'Which is why I need to kill Sweets'_, she thought. "Tell me what happened last night. And while you are in spill mode, tell me what I missed during that first case," Ange added in her sauciest tone, which usually triggered an eye roll from Bren. She was not disappointed.

Brennan took a breath and tried to focus on a point in the room so that she would not have to see the reactions in the face of her friend. She stared at the reconstruction still sitting on her desk. The life-like face gazed back at her as if to say _'Don't look at me lady, you're on your own. I wasn't even there.' _She blinked once and decided that perhaps looking at Angela while she spoke may be a better option.

Starting at the _real_ beginning – 12 months and 3 weeks prior to the Cleo Eller case – Brennan related how Booth had strolled into the lecture theatre at American University and proceeded to charm and flirt his way through the case, she had let him and flirted right back. The attraction was mutual and strong. Despite the restrictions that the FBI placed on Agents, she actively encouraged Booth to be a rebel. She thought that it was hot. When she had punched out the Federal Judge for trying to intimidate and man-handle her, Booth did not intervene. He let her stand up for herself and reciprocated by telling her that _she_ was hot. Unfortunately, as hot as her actions were, Booth had been instructed to terminate her employment with the FBI, effective immediately.

The setting for this news being delivered was, in retrospect, far from ideal. This was due to the fact that both she and Booth were inebriated following multiple shots of tequila. The combination of alcohol intoxication, attraction and heavy flirtation resulted in her completely rational, yet unambiguous, indecent proposal. Of course the termination of her contract with the FBI also made this _effective immediately_. Booth was obviously thinking along the same lines, because did not need to be asked twice.

Angela felt like she was being read a passage from one of Brens' books instead of the narrative of her interaction with Agent Studly. It was surreal, mesmerising, and totally hot!

"So what happened next?" Asked Angela, hoping like hell that Booth had stopped off to get coffee on his way back.

"Booth called a cab immediately. We went outside to wait and he disclosed to me that he was dealing with a gambling problem. He thought that I should know," said Brennan.

"Why would he bring that up?" Asked Angela, puzzled.

"Because he wanted to kiss me of course," replied Brennan as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She gave one of her one-sided grins and added, "It was an extremely satisfying kiss. It was almost as good as the kiss we shared under the mistletoe the year before last. Booth has excellent tongue control."

Angela did a double-take and let go of the gauze she was holding on the knee wound. Fortunately it had stopped bleeding, which was great for Angela, because exsanguination would have been particularly ironic in the middle of a story as good as this one.

"What the hell... I mean when where did this happen?" spluttered Angela.

Brennan didn't even bat an eyelid and replied, "Approximately eight feet from where we are now actually." Angela silently mouthed the word _'Wow!'_ and in a flash of artistic inspiration decided that she was going to pull up that piece of carpet tile memorabilia, frame it tastefully, and raffle it off to the highest bidder in the Jeffersonian / FBI betting pool.

With a note of regret in her voice, Brennan continued to relate the story of the night that almost was. Angela conceded that Sweets was right about them missing their moment, which didn't reduce her desire to beat him around the head with the DC phonebook one iota. When Brennan told her about Booth taking his gamble and her knee-jerk reaction that even a Seeley Booth kiss failed to contain, Angela found her vision blurring with tears.

"Ange? You look so sad. Please don't you be upset too. You said that you want to know...," said Brennan, becoming unsettled.

Angela cupped the face of her dear friend between her hands. "Sweetie, it's called empathy. You just shared a painful experience with me. I feel pain because you are in pain. That's how it is with people you love. I don't the science of how it works Bren; it's just how it is."

Special Agent Seeley Booth chose this tender moment to enter Brennan's office with a tray of coffee and prayed that this was Ange being a friend, rather than _friendly._


	6. Defying Insanity

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 6**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bones. I'd have a lot of fun if I did though!

"I have coffee, fruit salad, and clothing for Bones," announced Booth, as he entered the office of his partner to witness a rare '_moment', _where Angela was in the process of getting an important message across to her best friend. For all her brilliance and attention to detail, Temperance Brennan consistently failed to apply these skills to the nuances of interpersonal relationships. She relied on Booth for that.

As Booth made his way around to the other side of the couch where Bones was sitting, he placed all of his packages on a table. When he turned around, he did not expect to see such a literal and metaphorical mess. Dried streaks of blood covered her lower leg and the couch was littered with soggy tissues, a grotty lab coat, and bloodied gauze swabs. Booth's eyes widened in surprise and he looked at Bones. She looked like he felt. Exhausted, emotionally wrung out, and seriously in need of a _'guy hug'_. It appeared that the master of compartmentalisation had finally run out of compartments – Sweets would have a friggin' field day when he heard about this, providing that Angela let him live, of course.

"Wow Bones!" said Booth in a tone that concealed his urgent need to dial 1800-CONFESSIONAL immediately. Bones was wearing only a pair of black lacy panties with her now crumpled linen shirt. "That is some flesh wound you have there. It might need a dressing. Ange, pass me that first aid kit and we'll have it fixed up in no time."

The reaction of '_Agent Studly'_ was glaringly obvious to Angela, Booth literally oozed arousal even when he looked like the sorriest sonofabitch on the planet. She didn't know how Brennan managed to get through a single day, let alone five years, at work without jumping his bones (weird pun intended). This feat was particularly amazing in light of the recent evidence of just how sharp the knife-edge of attraction and repulsion was between them. It was hot. Angela was now seriously considering dragging Hodgins, or Wendell, or anyone who was willing, down to the Egyptian exhibit storage area and hitting Cleopatra's mattress on her lunch break. Next to the idea for auctioning off the Christmas smooch carpet tile, it was clearly the best idea she had had all day.

Angela handed Booth the First Aid kit, unable to take any more sexual tension, and informed them that she was going to lunch.

Booth cleared away some of the detrius from the couch next to Brennan, then pulled a dressing pack, some saline, and butterfly sutures from the First Aid kit. He cleaned his hands with a squirt of hand sanitising gel from the kit and began to prepare a sterile field. Brennan was looking perplexed and asked Booth whether this was actually necessary.

"Would you prefer me to call Cam to take a look at this Bones? asked Booth, calling her bluff.

"Actually Booth, in this case, my preference would be for you to attend to my laceration. And when did you learn to do wound care? From your dexterity with those forceps, it is apparent that you have done this before."

Booth gave a cocky grin and wiggled his eyebrows and drawled, "Medic training in the _Army Rangers_ Bones."

"That is very impressive Booth...Ooh! That is cold and it tickles," said Bones as she wiggled a little in response to Booth cleaning up the cut below her knee.

"You're as bad as Parker, Bones. Just sit still a darn minute would ya'", Booth chided gently.

"Okay, sorry" replied Bones. She bit on her bottom lip as she had observed Parker doing when he was being reprimanded by his father. Booth did not miss this rare attempt at levity from his partner and gave her a flash of the first genuine smile that she had seen on his face for some time. Booth continued to minister to her wound during this comfortable silence. Brennan could smell his cologne and feel the pressure of his fingers and forearms against her wounded leg. She tried desperately to ignore and suppress her physical and emotional response to his proximity, but there was no room at the inn, no vacancies, all the compartments were full. As Booth placed a waterproof sticking plaster over the butterfly sutures, Brennan felt an overwhelming urge to _'spill'_, as Angela would put it.

"I know Booth..." she began.

His brow furrowed, wondering where this was going. "You know lots of things Bones. It's kinda your thing..."

"Don't dissemble Booth. I know that I reacted badly last night. I observed how much that hurt you. But what you don't know is that I too experienced, and continue to experience profound pain. I can only conclude that this is because I simultaneously witnessed and was the cause of your pain. I need to apologise to you Booth...I am apologising..." Brennan covered her face with her hands and gave a muffled groan of frustration. "I'm a bestselling author and I can't even string together a sincere apology!"

"That's because you are trying to say something from the heart Bones. You can't use a word processor or hire an editor. I get that. I even get the tequila gesture" replied Booth as he reached out to take the hands away from her face. "I know. I should've known what to expect after all these years Bones."

Brennan gave a wry smile as she fought for control over her traitorous tear ducts and said, "I was hoping that you would know what to do about the tequila. I bought it for you as a peace offering, but I don't actually know what it means."

Booth brushed the hair away from her face so that he could make eye contact. "You want to defy insanity with science Bones. Redesign the experiment. You. Me. Tequila. Honesty, and choices."

Brennan sat up a little straighter and Booth was pleased to see the '_light bulb'_ expression on her face as the penny dropped. She breathed out an _'Ohhhh'_ and nodded slowly.

**A/N: Hi readers. Not sure whether to end it here, or go for Sweets payback and the tequila experiment. What does your inner scientist say? (Mine concurs, vehemently).**

**Drop me a review and let me know.**


	7. Dead kid walking

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 7**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bones... Bummer

Temperance Brennan was particularly pleased that her apology to Booth had been more successful than her disastrous attempt to deal with his declaration of love. Even at their lowest ebb, when nothing would have been easier than to walk away, Booth had stepped in to her emotional safety net yet again, and she had been saved by it, without really comprehending why. Of course, she would refute the validity of the concept of an emotional safety net, and he would deny any allegations of _'White Knight'_ behaviour. One thing was for sure, Sweets had a bigger job on his hands than he could conceivably imagine – think Decepticon invasion times a thousand. These two were set on a heading into abnormal psychology territory where no twelve-year-old had gone before.

Booth had left Bones to eat, and finally put on some pants, while he went back to the Hoover Building to attend some lame briefing that DD Hacker had called for at the eleventh hour. At the very least, Booth mused, he could get started on his backlog of _'Hail Mary's'_ – because he and Bones were meeting to conduct the experiment tonight ('Why wait' _Bones had reasoned. It was not as if they were waiting for ethical approval)._ Her was bringing take-out and meeting her in Bone Storage, of all places, at 7:30 p.m. Booth had wondered why they couldn't just go to a bar, but got confused when Bones started mumbo-jumboing on about controlled conditions.

In fact, Brennan may have had a point about controlled conditions. Dr. Lance Sweets had just emerged from Bone Storage after an impromptu lunchtime _'session'_ with his bride-to-be, Daisy Wicks. Apparently even soft scientists adhered to experimental methods.

Sweets decided that he was going to try to catch up with Agent Booth while he was in the neighbourhood. He had been closeted in with Dr. Brennan when he had arrived to take Daisy to lunch. As he headed to see Dr. Brennan, he noted that the forensics platform was free from human remains and that the door to her office was open. From the doorway, Sweets noted that she was at her desk, focused on a pile of reports in front of her. Dr. Brennan looked a little tired, but Sweets did not see any outward signs of agitation. Just as he was about to knock on the door, she looked up and fixed him with an icy gaze.

"Come in Dr. Sweets. There is something that I wish to discuss with you" said Brennan. For some reason Sweets got the feeling that she had omitted the words _'before you die'_ from the end of her statement, but he received the silent message, loud and clear. She stood and waved him into her office, her carriage and the set of her jaw indicated barely concealed anger and hostility. As they faced off in the middle of the room, he realised that he was a dead man. The best that Sweets could hope for was to survive as the Hoover Building's first eunuch.

"I was hoping that Agent Booth would be here..." began Sweets.

Brennan cut him off as she stepped into his personal space and poked her finger into his sterno-manubial joint. It hurt.

"Agent Booth has returned to attend a meeting at the Hoover. Dr. Sweets, do you recall our conversation following your decision not to inform me that the death of Agent Booth had been faked following his shooting by Pam Noonan?" she asked.

Sweets nodded mutely.

"Excellent" said Brennan. "Then I am sure that you have a valid reason that explains why you manipulated Booth into almost severing our partnership last night. Not that I am interested in the rambling rationales of psychology..."

Sweets merely widened his eyes and swallowed.

"When you previously manipulated me by failing to pass on the notification of Booth's death being staged, you correctly assessed that I would cope. I still stand by my assessment that your motives for doing so were unethical – your manuscript fails to provide sufficient detail in this respect."

Brennan grabbed his tie and yanked him forward as she lowered her voice, her eyes mere inches from his.

"Sweets, I warned you. Your _intervention _last night was poorly timed and recklessly implemented. You _knew _that Booth would reactively disclose his feelings to me following your appeals to his open heart. Furthermore, your book clearly articulates your assessment of my '_fragmented emotional repertoire', _which you crudely apply to a number of poorly validated models to _explain _my heart. Despite my reservations around your methodology, even I can conclude that you could have predicted my reactive response."

Sweets thought about this for a moment and his assessment was _'mega tragic'._ Brennan was angry enough to punch Sweets, but she had an experiment to set up and graciously decided to give her proxy authority to Booth and Angela. She let go of Sweets' tie and pushed him away from her in disgust.

"Stay out of my life, Sweets. You caused me to hurt my partner and that hurt me. I am sure that Booth will be taking up this issue with you when he sees you next. As far as I am concerned, if you play games with me again, I will ruin your professional standing in your field. I would appreciate it if you would leave. Now."

Angela Montenegro had regained her equilibrium, following some creative lunchtime pursuits with Hodgins on Cleopatra's bed. Despite Hodgins having three PhD's, their impromptu tryst had been a much more improvisational experience – with a re-enactment of _'page 187'_ and a couple of encores for good measure. This did not offend Hodgins' scientific sensibilities in any way. Where Ange was concerned; Art made Science her bitch – every time.

As Angela reached her office, she saw a slightly dazed Sweets approaching from the other direction. Angela put on her most sympathetic demeanour and caught Sweets by the arm to stop him.

"You look a little peaky Sweets. Did you skip lunch again?" Sweets shook his head slowly and Angela closed the trap, leading him into her office. "I've got some Green Tea in here, come and have a cup..."

Lance Sweets was a dead man walking.


	8. Menu item 100: Baby Peking Duck

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 8**

**Disclaimer: **With the exception of the 206 that have my DNA, I do not own Bones!

**A/N: Just watched Episode 101. I was impressed – as I hoped, they didn't pretend that nothing had happened...& I won't spoil the rest of your night **

**6:00 p.m. **The Founding Fathers Bar

Temperance Brennan did not like to drink alone. Not that she had a problem with alcohol, she had an excellent tolerance for it and during her college years she had gained grudging respect for her ability to drink the popular crowd under the table. Technically, she would not be drinking alone this evening anyway when she met up with Booth to conduct their experiment later on. Knowing that mixing drinks was a sure fire way for her to end up sick, she had decided to have a couple of Margaritas. It would stimulate the production of the alcohol dehydrogenase enzyme in her liver in preparation for what she knew would be a heavy night of drinking. She sipped at her second cocktail and observed the bartender flirting with a blonde at the other end of the bar. As the alcohol took effect, lowering her IQ from genius to merely _'scary-smart', _Brennan relaxed and became less anxious about the possible outcome of this evening. After all, nothing could have been worse than the events of the previous day.

Brennan's phone rang. It was Angela. Security at the Jeffersonian had called her to advise that Sweets had been seen leaving the Anthropology Lab under cover of darkness. Brennan had been surprised to learn that Dr. Saroyan had collaborated with her best friend to exact revenge upon Sweets, but then again Booth had loyal friends in the lab too, due to his _Alpha Male_ status. As she had prepared to leave the lab just after 5:00 p.m., Brennan had been pulled aside by Angela to be informed that Sweets was recovering from a _'life lesson'_ which had been facilitated by her friend and Cam. It emerged that Dr. Saroyan had provided Ange with scopolamine eye drops to lace a cup of green tea, and during his ensuing stupor; Sweets had been stripped and painted _'Ninja Turtle Green' _in a preparation of semi-permanent plant dye. Cam had used her medical training to suture a red headband to his scalp using dissolvable sutures which would degrade in 72 hours. If he was lucky.

When Sweets awoke he was _Baby Peking Duck._ Restrained with cable ties, he was treated to a computer generated scenario of being kidnapped by aliens, using the new 3D set-up that Angela had installed on the _Angelator_. Brennan had been given strong assurances, that should Sweets prove to be a slow learner, the video of his punishment would be made available on the FBI intranet. Any further episodes of psychological meddling would see the video posted on _YouTube._

Angela went on to invite Brennan to a bar that she was at with Cam. As she made her very legitimate excuses about pre-existing plans, Brennan felt, rather than saw a man slide onto the bar stool next to her. Great. Now she was going to have to extricate herself from the clutches of some loser. Brennan covered her exposed ear as she was trying to hear what Ange was saying over the background noise of the happy hour crowd. Her best friend gave a squeal down the phone and yelled something about free jelly shots and told Brennan that she would catch up with her on the weekend.

"You getting a head start on me there Bones?" a familiar baritone rumbled next her ear. "

Brennan turned toward Booth and gave him a _'bottoms up'_ salute with her salt-rimmed glass and emptied it. She locked eyes with Booth and gave him that sexy smirk that drove him to distraction.

"Absolutely," she replied.

Booth waved over the bartender, who gave a nod of acknowledgment whilst he was pouring a beer.

"So are we heading back to Bone Storage, or hanging here for a while?" asked Booth.

"Well, I did not expect you to show up here Booth. I came here for some Dutch bravery – the last 24 hours has been quite confronting" said Brennan.

"That would be _Dutch courage_ Bones. Courage" quipped Booth, with a smile and slight shake of his head. "Look Bones, we can stay here for a while if you want..."

She sat up a little straighter and tried to shake the slight buzz from the alcohol and interrupted Booth, placing a hand on his forearm.

"Actually, the conditions for the experiment are ideal. The Founding Fathers bar is somewhere that we frequent regularly, and all of the essential equipment is right here..."

Booth looked a little quizzical. W_as she talking about 'his' equipment? What kind of experiment was this?_

Brennan interpreted the look of confusion as a request for clarification of the details. She was half right.

"The required elements are tequila, honesty, choices, you...and me. Now that you have arrived Booth, the conditions are ideal. Although we should probably eat something before we begin" said Brennan _sotto voce_, with a conspiratorial smile.

Right on cue, the bartender arrived and Bones ordered a basket of French fries and another Margarita. The bartender leaned toward Booth and said, "What'll it be for you, Sir?"

Booth's famous gut was telling him that he was at the point of no return. Oh, and it wouldn't mind some French fries either. He raised his voice a little to make himself heard.

"I'll have what she's having"


	9. Bring on the Catalyst

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 9**

**Disclaimer: **Bones belongs to Booth, no matter how much she denies it! (Too literal?). I do not own Bones

**A/N: It appears that reviewers and Bones fans everywhere are polarised in their opinion about outbreaks of wicked righteous punishment toward everyone's favourite 'soft scientist', Dr. Sweets. For the record, I would like to state unequivocally that I actually like Sweets – but he has been a naughty Baby Duck and had to be taught a life lesson. Oh, and yes, the green dye will wash off before his wedding day...**

The two test subjects were shown to their booth in a quieter corner of the Founding Fathers bar. Booth was carrying their Margaritas and he let Bones scoot around the corner sofa that arced around their table, placing her bag and coat out of the way. Booth placed their glasses on the table and tossed his own jacket over onto the couch, where it landed in a direct hit on top of her coat. The symbolism was not lost on Booth. In a rare stroke of fatalism, he supposed that even if this experiment did tank tonight, at least his jacket had gotten lucky.

A waiter turned up with their baskets of French fries and they went through their familiar ritual of arranging the positions of their food and beverages on the table and calling shotgun on the ketchup bottle – Booth won, Bones pouted, and then tried to make a final feint for the sauce bottle, but alas, her reflexes were currently being marinated in Margarita. They ended up with arms locked and tangled, faces approximately a sauce bottle width apart. With his large hand wrapped around the prize (a bottle of ketchup), Booth grinned at his grimacing partner.

"I win, Bones"

She harrumphed in exaggerated disappointment and released her grip on Booth. He raised his sauce bottle prize in the air like a trophy and proclaimed, "Winner, winner, chicken dinner!"

"You only ordered fries Booth" deadpanned Bones.

"Ha! Very funny Bones. You actually said that on purpose"

"I have been practicing my humour skills Booth. Parker is an excellent instructor" said Bones earnestly.

"Uh huh" agreed Booth through a mouthful of fries. "You'll be advancing to Junior High level jokes before you know it."

"I wasn't aware that there was an approved curriculum for humour studies in grade school Booth" she countered with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmm, intermediate subtle humour. Why am I not surprised?" Booth asked the mute sauce bottle, which was duly snatched from his hand.

"Hey!"

Dr. Brennan, _Ketchup Overlord_, gave an evil chuckle and added ketchup to her fries with an uncharacteristic lack of precision. The handbrake on her tightly wound personality had been released and she didn't currently have any reason to be concerned about this in her present company. Booth's easy humour and gentle teasing gave her inner child permission to come out and play. They ate their fries and communicated silently by stealing fries from each other. Brennan had never really understood the appeal of playing with food. She recalled observing her peers in her high school and college years who would partake in a ritualised seduction over finger food in cafeterias and diners. Upon reflection, engaging in the ritual was very satisfactory, a sort of social foreplay. Their silent battle was punctuated by the occasional smack to fingers that were not quite fast enough to claim their potato prize.

"Can I get you anything else to drink?" asked the waiter as he cleared their table.

"We would like one bottle of tequila, with two shot glasses, and a bowl of lemon wedges," blurted out Bones before Booth could get a word in.

Booth guffawed and said to the waiter, "Make that _LIME wedges _pal_."_

"Geez Bones. That would be lime with tequila shots! Eww! Lemons...that would be like drinking _Lemon Pledge" _said Booth with a shudder.

"Tequila shots can be consumed with either lemon or lime wedges. It is a matter of preference. Although connoisseurs of tequila would use neither, prefering to take their shots neat. Drinking _Lemon Pledge_ could be hazardous to our health Booth. _And _it could ruin the experiment!" said Bones, completely serious. Oh boy.

She was deceptive under the influence of alcohol, outwardly relaxed and happy, with scattered bubbles of awkward poise and rationality rising to the surface. Their waiter wondered where this man had found the lady.

Yup. It was a museum.

"Any particular brand of tequila, Ma'am?"

"Any genuine imported product from Mexico will be satisfactory. The cost is immaterial," she replied handing over enough cash to cover the purchase plus a hefty tip.

Their waiter looked at the size of the tip and quickly headed toward the bar. He thought that this couple were a little young for a mid-life tequila crisis. Surely they wouldn't be engaging in a college-style tequila trip to a wild booty call?

Booth raised his Margarita glass to Bones and proposed a toast.

"To Science. May tequila be the catalyst that defies insanity." The second part of his toast paraphrased a comment that Cam had made to him on the phone that afternoon.

Bones nodded and smiled indulgently, impressed by his correct usage of what she considered to be her native language.

"I'll drink to that Booth"

They touched the rims of their glasses, salt crystals crumbling along with their inhibitions as they drained the last of their Margaritas. The tequila and its various accoutrements arrived and were set up in front of them. Booth sighed heavily, unsure of what he was getting himself into. He had envisioned many scenarios that might take this relationship to that _'somewhere'_ that he had thought that they were going to on that first night six years previously. Last night had been his worst nightmare. Could tonight be its polar opposite? His gut remained obstinately mute on the subject, full of fries and in post-prandial bliss. Right now, the experiment scenario was kinda middling whacko.

It was almost as if their collective fate was in the hands of a B-grade writer who had an axe to grind.

**Post-edit A/N: So I posted this chapter at 1 a.m., then head off to bed. I wake up this morning to discover that I made a tequila faux pas.**

**Life imitates art. And I must confess to being a 40-year old tequila virgin. The original version of this chapter had Bones simply ordering a bowl of lemon wedges, with Booth staying silent. Luckily for me, Mendenbar was my _White Knight _& came to my rescue, letting me know that variability in tequila shot culture exists. I must also acknowledge Mendenbar as source of the L_emon Pledge _joke. I'm still chuckling...**


	10. Game on

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 10**

**Disclaimer: **Just in case an audit is conducted – I do not own Bones

They were attempting to refute an assertion made by Benjamin Franklin – that insanity is defined as doing the same things over and over, and expecting different results. Although there were other, more clinical and contemporary definitions to describe insanity, this particular definition is arguably the most classic and poetic. Temperance Brennan recalled a discussion with her cousin Margaret, Ben's biggest fan, last Christmas. This particular quotation was often misattributed to other worthy historical figures such as Mark Twain and Albert Einstein, which irked Margaret greatly.

Cousin Margaret had also pronounced her opinion that Seeley Booths' eyes were too close together, Brennan disagreed. Staring into those eyes while poised to take their first tequila shot, she still disagreed, vehemently. The spacing of his orbits was within normal limits for a Caucasian male of his build, and they also were particularly pleasing to look at when his pupils were dilated like this.

Booth had filled their shot glasses as Brennan had positioned the salt shaker and wedges of both lemon and lime that their overeager, and over-tipped waiter had brought to the table. Right now, Booth was wondering if that intent, analytical stare that she was giving him was the same one that she usually reserved for human remains. He was entirely correct of course, but Booth was quite content to stare right back into her baby blues. It was not something that he got the opportunity to do legitimately. Despite the lip service made toward _'moving on'_ last night, the strength and depth of what he felt for Bones had not diminished. The only lip service he was remotely interested in at this point was of the kissing variety.

They had both agreed on the ground rules; avoidance of squinty talk, putting prudish sentiments on the back burner, being honest, and allowing some practical choices to made about where to go to from here. The first two conditions were self-limiting – add enough alcohol and they would go away. The second two issues were more dependent variables that were really at the metaphorical heart of the experiment. Brennan explained that if they could approach their current concerns in this setting, under these conditions, _and_ end up with a different outcome at the end of the night, they would be forced to accept the alternate hypothesis.

"I don't know what that means" said Booth. _Okay, it was her line, but it was true._

She gave a flash of a smile in response, because after three Margaritas she could actually appreciate the humour.

"_What this means_ Booth is that if we conclude tonight that change is possible, we can move forward and have defied insanity, hence rejecting the null hypothesis"

"Whoa! Way too squinty Bones" said Booth. "So, if we work through all the reasons that things can't happen between us, we prove that we can change?"

"Exactly" replied Brennan. She moved in toward his ear and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "It also means that you will be able to go home and have sex with me tonight"

'_Oh yeah! Oh God!!' _Booth cringed, but stopped himself from making any comment that could be classified as prudish. It was just what she had done six years previously, albeit with significantly more alcohol on board then than she did right now. But it would take more than one of her rationally indecent proposals to shake him tonight, there was no way he was letting down Team Booth.

"I suppose it does Bones," he replied as he lifted up his shot glass. "Let's do this thing. Time to drink up and you can choose the first problem for us to talk about. " Booth licked his index finger and held it out for Brennan to put salt onto it.

It was game on. Brennan put on her _'game face', _which Seeley Booth happened to find as sexy as hell. She put salt on his index finger and licked her own finger a little more slowly than was proper under experimental conditions. She added her own salt and picked up her shot glass and clinked it against Booths. They licked their salt-encrusted fingers, tossed back the tequila, grabbed a citrus wedge and sucked on it.

"Hoo-boy!" said Booth shaking his head, as Brennan hissed out a breath with her eyes screwed up in response to the burning sensation.

"So, will the FBI let us work together as a couple? Asked Brennan, throwing down the first obstacle. She was right down to business, and judging by the dilation of her own pupils and increased heart rate, perhaps a little too eager to get to the going home part as well.

"Yes they will Bones. You are a Consultant to the FBI, not a sworn Agent. I checked the rules. Relationships between Consulting staff and Agents are subject to evaluation by an FBI head shrinker. We've already got ourselves one of those, remember."

"What if Sweets says no?" Brennan countered, with a wrinkle worrying her brow.

"Hey, Sweets literally ordered me to _'break the circle'_ last night. To _save _our partnership Bones. Why would he do that and then dissolve the partnership?"

Brennan nodded to herself thoughtfully. "That would be both counterintuitive and counterproductive Booth...and Sweets would refute all of his own claims. _And _he would never be able to sell his book. I accept your logic."

Booth looked a little shocked. Four words to remove one barrier. One step closer to the three words he really needed to hear. Bones had taken the opportunity to refill their glasses with tequila. She handed him the salt shaker.

"Your turn Booth."


	11. The tipping point

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 11**

**Disclaimer: **Okay, umm...just checking...checking... Sorry. I do not own Bones.

The empty shot glasses hit the table top. Both participants in _the experiment _followed protocol and used a citrus wedge to finish off the ritual. Booth, eyes watering a little from the burning sensation in his chest, cleared his throat a little, and shook his head to regain his composure. He noted that his partner, Bones, had recovered nicely after giving a sharp exhalation through pursed lips. She folded her arms on the table in front of her and leaned forward a little, with her lip curling in a small smile.

"See something you like, Special Agent Booth?" she drawled, in a tone reminiscent of Roxy, from their Vegas undercover operation.

'_Ladies and Gentlemen. Our inhibitions have left the building,' remarked Booth to himself. _

Booths' gaze had been drawn, like the proverbial moth to a flame, to the additional view of her cleavage, afforded when she had leaned forward onto her folded arms. It was a low blow, but he wasn't complaining. Not to be outdone, Booth raked his eyes slowly back up toward her face and made eye contact, with what was his most smouldering look.

Sometimes witty comebacks, or even words, were not necessary.

As enjoyable as an evening of competitive flirting promised to be, it would have been futile to continue this way, it was the reactive flipside of the pushing away that had occurred on the previous evening – there had been too much reactive behaviour of late - and besides, Bones would win.

"Okay Bones. You know I wanna give this thing, _us_, a chance, so why do you think I need protection from you? If I'm the big, tough _alpha male _that you keep harping on about, you know I'm capable of making _'risky' _decisions."

The expression on her face moved from sultry, to vulnerable, to something he couldn't quite identify.

"I can't give you what you want Booth – 30, 40, or 50 years. I simply cannot comprehend a relationship of that scope, or even fathom the rules. You don't deserve the damage that I know that I will do to your open heart, I care too much to let that happen."

Booth, rubbed the back of his neck and took a breath. "Bones, there is such a thing as thinking too much y'know. There are no rules. I'm not as smart as you, but I know people, and in some things I know _you_ better than you know yourself. You won't hurt me Bones, because I won't let that happen. I'm the tough guy."

He put his hand over hers and she rotated her wrist so their fingers could lace together. She moved closer toward him, sliding over on the couch and rested her head on this shoulder.

Booth continued his argument. "Five years ago when we started working regular cases together, it was tough to be in the same room together, or even have a civil conversation. But our relationship as partners grew over time, our bond became stronger, we are there for each other now Bones. At the beginning of the Cleo Eller case, if I'd suggested that we could have a partnership like have right now, you would have punched me out."

She smiled into his shoulder, and admitted, "We were pretty mean to each other back then Booth, but we did learn to value each other and care for each other. I agree that I could not have predicted that we would go on to have such a successful partnership."

Booth nodded in encouragement.

"That's the point Bones. We were put together back then and grew, against the odds, and because didn't have a choice we worked at it. Being a couple is just the same except we have more choices. Two people together, supporting, caring, growing..."

'_Loving_,' he added silently_._

"We've come a long way in five years. Bones, you have grown. Your heart may not be as open as mine, but at least you _can_ make that distinction now, you never could before, and it gives me hope. So if you can't picture 30 years Bones, try picturing five years, or even just one year. Call it a longer term experiment."

Temperance Brennan had consumed a fair amount of alcohol that evening, but she followed Booth's reasoning with ease and processed it. Booth had put an arm around her after she had leaned into him. His words had triggered the same set of reactions and emotions in her as the previous evening had. But tonight, the controlled environment provided her with a safety net. The alcohol allowed her reactions to be safely diffused, detached, and examined while they were floating through her mind on a warm tequila current.

She raised her head off his shoulder and pivoted herself to face him, and moved her hand up to touch his perfect acromion. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

"Booth. You believe in me and I trust you. It makes me feel...loved, and a little afraid. Would you be satisfied with five years, or even one year, just to give _'us' _a try?"

As his partner spoke these words, Seeley Booth prayed that they had reached the tipping point of the discussion. He leaned in until their faces were mere inches from each other.

"Temperance, having the courage to make that choice is the only thing that really matters." Only tequila vapours separated them now, just as it had been six years previously. "You know, I think we may be going somewhere again, so I'm gonna have to kiss you now..."

**A/N: We're close to the end now folks. I also posted a one-shot on the original tequila session, with a slight twist. If you have any requests for the ending, now would be the time to review or PM me.**


	12. Sex, limes & video tape

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 12**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bones. Nor do I intend to infringe the rights of any of the fabulous writers, cast and crew. This attempt is but a pale imitation of their mega wicked awesomeness...please don't sue me!

Fate is said to be a fickle mistress. Booth would support this assertion and Dr. Brennan would refute it, categorically. However, all belief systems aside, this evening, it was the fickle finger of Ms. Fate that prodded a weary Jack Hodgins to head to the Founding Fathers for a drink. He had been on a particularly difficult visit to his friend Zach at the mental institution. Zach's hands were undergoing more surgery in a few days time to have additional skin grafting, and revision of scar tissue that was causing contractures in his ruined fingers. Zach didn't have an issue with the prospect of surgical intervention, just the anaesthetic and post-operative pain medications, because they dulled his intellect and made him vulnerable. All that Hodgins could do was be there to support his friend and use diversional tactics to give Zach a short break from the anxiety that he was experiencing.

Hodgins entered the Founding Fathers and headed straight for the bar and ordered a double scotch on the rocks. He took his drink and worked his way through the crowd to find a quiet corner to nurse his drink and frazzled nerves for a while. Jack considered calling Angela a little later to see if she was up for a nightcap.

Along the back wall of the bar were tables and booths that contained couples chatting quietly away from the rowdier crowd surrounding the bar. He gave a wave to one of the research assistants from palaeontology on his way past a booth with a couple about to engage in a serious tonsil hockey match.

Jack Hodgins nearly dropped his drink when he recognised the familiar profiles of Dr. B and Booth. He quickly dodged into an alcove in case they spotted him. Ignoring any reservations he had about voyeurism, Hodgins looked on stunned as his two colleagues locked lips and proceeded to kiss each other senseless – and for Dr. B that was saying something, because she was _always _in control, even when she was buried alive. All of a sudden, Hodgins didn't know where to look, so he looked down at the drink in his hand, opened his mouth and tossed the scotch back, smothering a gasp as his oesophagus was napalmed by the alcohol. Man, he had to tell Ange.

Grabbing his cell phone out of his pocket he casually took ten seconds of video footage as evidence of his discovery. _'King of the Lab!' _As a scientist and player in the FBI/Jeffersonian betting pool this action was completely justified, ethics be damned. As Dr. B and Booth disengaged their lips, Hodgins ducked back around into the main area of the bar and headed to buy another drink. As he leaned against the bar, he sent the video to Angela's phone, with the subject line, '_Try not to scream too loud.'_

Three blocks away, Angela was in the foyer of a club waiting for a cab, when her phone chirped. She gave a low chuckle as she saw the sender ID and raised an eyebrow at the saucy subject line. Screaming loudly was _exactly_ what she had done during '_Page 187'_ in Cleopatra's bed with Hodgins yesterday. The video file downloaded and began to play.

"Oh. My. God." Murmured Angela.

Then she screamed.

The bouncer though it was because he looked a lot like Wesley Snipes – he got that a lot.

Back at the Founding Fathers, after breaking their kiss and staring at each other in bewilderment for about five seconds, Brennan started setting up for another tequila shot. Preliminary results of their experiment had demonstrated a promising outcome and she wanted to go on to confirm this empirically. She also desperately needed to do something with her hands until she could control the urge to grab Booth by the lapels of his jacket and reassure him that they were still getting somewhere.

Booth pulled the small glass brimming with tequila toward him and picked up the salt shaker, preparing for the next shot. Brennan grabbed his hand and used some sort of martial arts nerve block to remove any resistance, his index finger was on a collision course with her mouth.

"Bones..." he said in a warning tone, as the odds of him going to Hell shortened considerably.

She held her own index finger out in invitation – it was a fair compromise - and chuckled huskily when Booth licked his lips nervously.

"Promise not to bite, Bones?" he asked.

"Not unless you find it stimulating, Booth" she countered.

As they took their M-rated tequila shot, Booth seriously wondered whether he would _survive_ a year, let alone five, with Temperance Brennan.

At least he would die a happy man.

**A/N: Thank you to all who have taken the time to review, alert and favourite this story. The response has been beyond anything that I expected – the stats have blown my squinty little mind. This experience has encouraged me to keep writing creatively, something that I haven't done in years!**


	13. A Bones between two Booths

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 13**

**Disclaimer: **I find myself repeatedly writing a disclaimer each chapter & get the same results - I still do not own Bones. According to Benjamin Franklin, this is insanity...

**A/N: ...and I'm back! Had to take a day off to attend a graduation ceremony...sorry B&B fans! **

**I haven't quite finished with this fic yet, for all you worried reviewers out there...thanks for continuing to put this on alert. It means that somebody out there is reading, ergo, I must keep writing!**

Temperance Brennan gave a small frown following the most intense tequila shot she had ever had – even _Bhang _did not have the same buzz. "Booth, I am unsure whether I would advise continuing with this experiment tonight".

Wondering what had brought on this sudden change of heart, Booth began to worry. There were still some unresolved issues between them which needed to be discussed if they were going to move forward with...whatever this was going to be between them.

"I thought we were getting somewhere Bones. If I went too far with that kiss..." he began.

"No," she replied quickly, with a little more intensity than was called for under the circumstances. Booths' brow wrinkled in consternation, so she quickly qualified her position with what could only be described as a saucy expression on her face as she leaned in and lowered her voice to a husky alto.

"I enjoyed that kiss Booth; in fact, it has made me very amorous. Your tongue control is still excellent. I would be appreciative if we could repeat it."

'_Huh?' _thought Booth oscillating from slightly confused to decidedly aroused, as his _'very amorous'_ partner acted upon her desire by placing her hands over his clavicles and drawing him back into an embrace where another demonstration of tongue control was urged as their lips met again. Bones slid her hands down the front of his chest, feeling the contours of his torso, needing as much tactile stimulation as she could dare in a public place. She gave a small shocked gasp into his mouth as Booth responded by pinning her against the cushioned back wall of the booth and turned the tongue control up to eleven.

As much as she was enjoying Booth acquiescing to her wishes in such a timely fashion, there was actually a very good reason for her raising putting the experiment on hold. She made a small noise to indicate that he should break off the kiss because she was effectively ensnared between two 'booths'.

'_How alliterative...'_, she thought.

The Booth doing the kissing took her vocalisation as a sign of encouragement, and moved his arm from the booth that she was trapped against, trailing his hand down lightly across her cleavage. Bones growled in frustration, the man had a one track mind, and it was a dirt track. Using her newly freed arm, she tapped Booth on the shoulder. He broke the intense contact between their mouths and moved to her neck, _'sternocleidomastoid'_, her rational mind corrected, where he began kissing and nipping, whilst breathing heavily in a most distracting fashion.

"Booth... please? she managed to vocalise, at this point breathing fairly heavily herself.

"Anything... you want... Bones... Anything..." replied six cumulative years of suppressed passion, understandably doing the talking for Booth at this juncture.

"I think you should know that I..." Brennan found herself unable to string together a coherent sentence for the first time since she lost her two front baby teeth in elementary school.

"I know Bones, I know..." he breathed against her neck. The heat and sensation of his lips and exhalations was driving her rational mind off the road and into a ditch.

"...I just saw Hodgins" gasped the last tatters of her rationality which struggled feebly in the ditch.

"Oh crap!" murmured Booth against Bones' sternocleidomastoid, realising simultaneously the implications of her revelation, and his own private revelation as to just how close he was to breaking the law, by practically having sex with his clothes on in a public bar.

Booth peered around the corner of their booth in a mild parody of the sniper that he was. His trained moves ensured that Hodgins did not notice the surveillance – but the look was spoiled by his slightly swollen lips, a couple of lipstick smudges and hair that was unruly.

"Is Hodgins still there?" asked Brennan.

"Uh huh" he confirmed. "You'd better go and freshen up Bones, because Angela just arrived and we both know how good her booty-call radar is..."

"Fine, Booth. Let me up" said Brennan, grabbing her bag and smoothing her hair down a little.

He stood up to let her by, trying to straighten up his own dishevelled appearance as she stood and moved past him toward the restrooms. She impulsively grabbed his hand and dragged him into the same alcove that Hodgins had used to record his video footage a little earlier – this could be considered ironic, but it was merely convenience in this case. Dr. Brennan held an honorary doctorate in competitive flirting, and she wanted to even the score for being pinned against the booth, by Booth. She pushed her partner against the wall, using her own body to pin him in place, grabbing him by the tie to pull his head down for the most aggressive kiss they had ever shared. Booth smiled against her lips when she had made her non-verbal point and slapped her lightly on the ass, enjoying their established bantering pattern finally getting physical.

"You can't get enough of me Bones..." he teased in a sing-song tone.

"Cocky bastard" she retorted giving his upper arm a light punch as she finally turned to head off to the restroom, swaying her hips slightly as she walked. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted that he was openly following her movement. It was the oldest anthropological trick in the book...

Booth ran his fingers through his hair, removed his heavily skewed tie and headed back toward their table. He waved to catch Angela's attention; she was peering in Booth's general direction, looking for Brennan. Angela waved back and grabbed Hodgins hand to lead him over to join them. Booth pondered what they were going to tell them, because this situation was decidedly hinkey.

"I wonder what they will tell us Ange? Will it be the truth?"asked Hodgins.

"Babe, we've got ten seconds of video proof. Totally hot proof!" replied Angela.

"Man, they are so busted..." commented Hodgins with a quiet chuckle.


	14. Squintelicious

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 14**

**Disclaimer (with embedded A/N – how efficient!): **After episode 5x18, I'm not actually sure that I _want _to own Bones – that is NOT a spoiler BTW; you can deduce that much from the promo video. Actually I'm completely witless after watching it...I still love Canadian TV scheduling though!

Temperance Brennan had just repaired the damage to her lip-zone layer, inflicted by Booth and his industrious mouth. _'Special Agent 'Hot Lips' Booth'_ commented a voice in her mind which just happened to be switched to the Angela Montenegro channel. Brennan considered this auditory hallucination to be evidence that she was becoming inebriated.

Just as Brennan finished raking a comb through her tousled auburn locks, Ms. Montenegro _in person_, burst in through the restroom door. Brennan looked up and locked eyes with the reflection of her best friend, who was standing behind her with a look of suspicion on her face.

"Hey Bren, you look hammered. And what happened to your shirt?"

"Hi Ange. I have been drinking tequila with Booth and we are both now mildly inebriated. We also ate some French Fries. Did I spill some ketchup on my shirt?" asked Brennan, examining the front of her shirt for ketchup particulates.

Angela put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at the typical evasive manoeuvre from Brennan.

"Bren, I'm actually referring to the fact that your shirt is half untucked and that there is a button missing"

Angela turned Brennan around by the shoulder and brushed her hair away from her shoulder. Pointing to her collar she went on, "...and _'this'_ would be lipstick transfer on your collar..."

Then tilting up Brennans' chin a little, Angela touched the side of her friends' neck, saying "...and _'THIS' _would be an acute case of _'pash rash'_" she said in a decisive tone that parodied that of a certain well-known Forensic Anthropologist when she was pronouncing the age, sex and ethnicity of human remains.

"I don't know what that means, Ange" countered Brennan reflexively.

Angela smiled indulgently at her friend. "Just because you don't call it _'pash rash'_ Sweetie, doesn't alter the fact that _someone_ has been trying to devour your neck. And seeing as _'Edward Cullen'_ isn't out there tonight, I'm going to take a leap and suggest that it was Booth going all _'Twilight'_ on your neck."

"I have no idea who, or what that is..." began Brennan.

Angela held up a finger and waved it at Brennan to silence her. "Bren, enough with the evasion already. I _know_ you. You've had enough tequila to give a small Mexican village alcohol poisoning, and look like you've had sex with your clothes on"

Brennan gave a small frown and considered saying something about hyperbole, but wisely decided against it. Angela was clearly not going to tolerate _any _rational reasoning tonight; it was one of the things that Brennan enjoyed most from their friendship. It also meant that she had an opportunity to occasionally practice the visceral approach to life that Booth subscribed to.

"Booth and I have been discussing the nature and limiting factors of our current partnership over tequila shots. We are attempting to defy insanity." Brennan smiled at her friend, who was trying to translate those statements into English. "We also embraced and kissed" she disclosed, lowering her voice in her best attempt at _'girl talk_'.

Angela was touched by the effort, musing in the nicest possible way that her dearest friend was also touched, employing the mentally ill connotation of the term.

"Come on Bren" sighed Angela, linking an arm through Brennans'. "Let's go and have a drink with the boys."

Booth and Hodgins had taken the opportunity to get some more glasses brought over and order some food. They had a tequila shot together, while the ladies were absent. It gave Booth a welcome opportunity to calm down a little.

"Did we interrupt something here, Booth?" asked Hodgins, his wide blue eyes conveying innocence. Despite having half a dozen shots of tequila on board, Booths' gut reliably informed him that Jack Hodgins was as guilty as sin, and would eat all three of the bug-guys' PhD's if it was wrong.

Even Booths' famous gut was as cocky as hell.

Booth gave his best interrogation deadpan at Hodgins. "That would be none of your business, '_Bug Man'..._" he began, and trailed off as he looked at the video playing on the phone that was pushed into his field of vision. Booth squinted at the image and made an _'ID on the perps_._' _

"Exhibit A, G-man. Dude, you are so busted!," chortled Hodgins.

"Guilty as charged" Booth admitted. There was no point in trying evade it any more. _What was he going to do? 'Lawyer up'?_

Angela and Brennan returned to the table and they all squeezed into the corner booth. As Brennan slid into the seat next to Booth with a wide smile on her face, she immediately placed hand on his upper thigh and whispered loudly into his ear.

"So? Shall we tell them Booth?"

"Bones. They already know." Booth replied, nodding over at Hodgins, who was holding up the video playing on his phone.

Brennan watched the video with an almost clinical interest, her bottom lip pouting out as she considered her response. She pointed a finger at the screen of the phone and made an observation.

"You'll see _here_, that Booth has excellent tongue control..." Angela leaned in to take a look at what Brennan was referring to.

Booth feigned an injured look on his face. "Geez. Everyone's a critic!"

**A/N: Speaking of critics – please feel free to review. It's 1 a.m., time for bed. So I'll see how many I wake up to in the morning. Nighty-night!**


	15. Squintessentially yours

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Chapter 15**

**Disclaimer: **BONES does not belong to me. I'd be too busy to write this if I did!

As the black limousine pulled away from the kerb outside the Founding Fathers Bar, Booth gave a final wave and nodded to the passengers in the back of the vehicle, and then proceeded to flop down heavily onto the bench seat of the bus shelter. Jack Hodgins had called the limo service attached to _The Cantilever Group_, showing a rare glimpse of his wealth and entitlement. Booth reflected that this didn't actually bother him as much as it used to. Hodgins was down to earth, literally and figuratively, and any guy that chose to get around in a beautifully restored classic Mini Cooper S had something going for him, regardless of his penchant for everything super gross.

After another enthusiastic wave down the street after the departing vehicle, Temperance Brennan joined her partner on the bench. Due to her high _Blood Alcohol Level_, she was slightly unsteady on her three inch heels, almost depositing herself onto Booths' lap as she seated herself. Although Booth had no objection to her sitting on his lap, he was not wearing his gun tonight and that would leave him with no excuses to explain what Bones might find there. _'A 207__th__ bone,' quipped Angela's voice in his head._

"I am confident that Angela will spend tonight engaging in sexual intercourse with Hodgins. She was giving him the eyeball over dinner," pronounced Brennan as she shuffled to her left to close the gap between them, giving a small shiver. It was close to midnight and the temperature had dropped. Booth put an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder to keep her warm.

"Giving him the _eye_, Bones. Close though," commented Booth. "The amount of _footsie_ going on between them under the table during our meal was the giveaway for me."

"Oh. I presumed that the lack of lower limb coordination was an effect of alcohol rather than a form of foreplay," she said, a little crestfallen. A small smile teased at the corner of her mouth and she gave Booth that direct gaze that could be categorised as a deadly weapon. "I would like to believe that my own efforts at foreplay over dinner will also prove to be fruitful"

Booth gave a wry smile and drew his infuriatingly awkward, but dazzlingly attractive partner into a rough embrace. "If you want it to be Bones," he answered, because he knew that her last statement was not rhetorical. She simply didn't do rhetoric.

Bones had been unashamedly handsy under the table during their meal, and had maintained physical contact with him continuously since returning from the restrooms with Angela, stubbornly refusing to relinquish her tenuous hold on her promising scientific discovery. Burgeoning proof that she possessed the capacity to change.

Brennan also didn't do small talk. Her logic inexorably jumped her response forward a couple of steps. She took Booths' face between her hands and gave the squintessential non-verbal confirmation of her requirements by initiating a kiss.

Months earlier, at this same bus shelter, they had shared a slice of his birthday cake, she with a sling on her arm, while he was weighed down by issues with Jared. It was a pale echo of this night. Instead of consuming cake, they were eating each other's faces off, an interesting symmetry, which neither of them particularly cared about right now.

Seeley Booth hoped that their cab would arrive soon, because he seriously needed to get horizontal before he passed out from a lack of blood to his brain. The cold air outside the bar had given the tequila in his system a second wind, blowing away any nagging reservations that he had about taking this to the next level. He knew that Bones would not necessarily verbalise everything that he needed to hear about love, romance and commitment. Booth was reassured by her actions, which betrayed everything that Bones tried to suppress, ignore, quantify and squintify. She poured passion into her end of the kiss with the same intensity he had seen her pour into her characterisation of Kathy and Andy, her ceaseless attention to forensic detail, and her zeal to give a voice to the dead – regardless of whether that death had occurred hours or eons previously. He also instinctively and experientially knew the difference between a kiss that was a prelude to a one night stand and _the _kiss which was the threshold to something special. This kiss was _screaming_ special. Booths' gut concurred.

The cab pulled up and the driver tooted his horn, throwing an auditory fire hose on the bus stop love in. Cam would have been proud.

Interrupting their kiss created a cold rush of air between them. They were at a sobering impasse. Did Brennan have sufficient evidence to move forward? Would she repeat her actions of six years previously? Had they found the key to defying insanity?

They stood. Brennans' fingers still entwined through those of Booth. He took a half step toward the cab and opened the back door, chivalrously waving for Bones to _alight her carriage_. If there had been a puddle, he would have thrown his jacket over it. She raised an eyebrow and gave a smirk which suggested that Booth would get away with it, this time.

Their fingers broke apart as she got into the cab and slid across the rear seat and leaned toward the still open door. Booth leaned in, with his arm braced on the roof of the cab in hesitation. Even now, he loved her enough to let her go. It was a profound juxtaposition of hope and despair. The thought sent an involuntary chill through him.

Brennan noticed his slight hesitation and shiver. Although she didn't really know what it meant, her newly awakening capacity for change did realise that she was expected to do or say something at this point. Reaching out her arm toward him, fingers begging for a reconnection, she did just that.

"Get in here with me Booth. It's cold out there."

Special Agent Booth followed orders. _It was kinda' of what he did y'know?_

**A/N: Okay folks getting ready to wrap this up with some fun epilogues...How do you feel about this?**


	16. Epilogue I: It ain't easy being green

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Epilogue I - It's not easy being green...**

**Disclaimer: **Alas. BONES does not belong to me, nor do I wish to profit from what is rightfully theirs – this effort is simply the musings of an overactive mind.

**The apartment of Dr. Lance Sweets**

**2 a.m.**

After a complaint from the neighbours around midnight, all was quiet. The glow of the street lights fell across Sweets' bed, painting a monochrome silhouette of two people tangled in the sheets in sated repose. Sweets had a darker tone to his skin which extended from where his shirt collar would normally be to the tips of his toes, with exclusion of only his hands. Angela and Cam had given him the very small courtesy of putting only a washable green body paint on his face – at least he could go to work and face his colleagues. Daisy had been supportive and had remained uncharacteristically reserved when he had arrived home under cover of darkness, chagrined and turned turtle, literally and metaphorically. Daisy had dug out her first aid kit and used a scalpel blade to remove the red head band that Cam had sutured to his scalp and given him space to get cleaned up in peace.

"Lancelot...?"

"Hmmm?" replied Sweets, who was dozing.

Daisy Wick, the future Mrs. Lance Sweets, was thinking. It was a hallmark of the INTJ personality type that many forensic anthropologists and their budding interns possessed. It was one of the many things that Daisy loved about her fiancée; he had taken her through the Myer-Briggs personality type indicator tests himself shortly after they started dating. Daisy knew that she was super-smart but Lance had helped her to connect with the world a little more gently by helping her to understand herself a lot better.

"I know it's late baby. But there's something I'd like you to do for me," wheedled Daisy in her best attempt at sultry.

Lance Sweets opened an eye and looked at the earnest expression on the face of his lover. "Not page 187...again?" he asked. If he ever found out the source of that particular brand of carnal wickedness he would shake their hand. Dr. Brennan had refused to disclose this information point blank, which he had not expected. She had also disclosed that she had no personal frame of reference for the act and that she would like to try it sometime, which was a response that Sweets found all at once surprising and completely expected.

Daisy gave a low chuckle.

"No, no, no, my Lancelot. I fell asleep and had a vivid dream" she said.

"You want a dream interpretation?" asked Sweets incredulously. "Now?"

"Not. Exactly," hedged Daisy.

Sweets raised his upper torso from the bed and turned toward Daisy, unable to resist the bait.

"Go on..." said Sweets in the deepest shrink tenor he could muster. He knew it drove Daisy nuts.

"I had a dream. It inspired me to ask if you if you would consider doing something very special...it is a fantasy of mine."

Sweets nodded his head sagely, indicating that Daisy should continue. She wriggled further onto her side so that she could relate her tale to him.

"When I was in college, my roommate and I had a massive fan crush on Eric Bana. We'd have movie nights every weekend...and well, one of my all time favourite roles for Eric was when he played _The Incredible Hulk..." _Daisy went on, as Sweets saw where this was headed. He placed a finger on her lips and gave her a hard stare. She recoiled a little, trying to work up an apology.

"Daisy!"

"Yes, Lance?"

"Don't make me angry....you wouldn't like me when I'm angry" quoted Sweets.

Daisy gave a squeal of delight as she was pinned down onto the bed.

"_Grrrr....Arrrghhh....Rrrrawhhh!" _

**A/N: I just had to do this. Two more Epilogues to come, so stay tuned...**


	17. Epilogue II: Sine qua non

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Epilogue II: Sine qua non**

**Disclaimer: **Non proprius ossuis (this is probably a dodgy translation – but you get the sentiment right?)

**A/N: Sine qua non is a Latin term that can be translated as: **_**"without which (there is) nothing."**_** It refers to an indispensable and essential action, condition, or ingredient. (Source: Wikipedia). This is short and sweet prior to the big finale...**

"Could this possibly get _any_ more clichéd?" she asked, tracing a finger over the outline of the tattoo on his arm.

Hodgins simply chuckled and raised the ballooned brandy glass in his hand and touched it to its twin in her hand. They were laid side by side on a mohair rug, in front of a blazing fire, in the study at the Hodgins estate. It was 3 a.m. They were butt naked, for predictable reasons. Angela reclined back onto a throw cushion and gazed around at the floor to ceiling shelves of books and leather furniture, in a pleasant post-coital haze – post page 187, _the original and best_.

"I feel like I'm in some X-rated version of a _Cluedo_ game, Jack. '_Who dunnit'_, to Miss Montenegro, in the study, with a very large..." Hodgins smothered her revelation of the identity of the weapon, by planting a kiss on her lips.

"It was Doctor Hodgins" he confirmed, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"That wiley old dog...!" teased Angela.

"Hey! Enough of the old already" he retorted with mock indignation.

"This is never going to get old for me Jack," sighed Angela wistfully, now tracing swirling designs over his pectorals.

"You really think so Ange? Because the experience of getting old without you would mean nothing." The blue eyes of Jack Hodgins were bright and mesmerising.

Angela Montenegro felt _something _click into place in her soul; the wild artistic composition of who she was would be framed perfectly by this man. He had known it all along.

"The way we're going, we may not survive to old age Hodgins. Those '_things'_ you do..."

"Yeah. But Ange babe, _you _are my muse. And I'd be content to die a happy man" replied Hodgins.

Like the tattoo says; '_Forever...'_


	18. Epil III: Who ya gonna call? Dam busters

**The Tequila in the Anthropologist**

**Epilogue III: Who you gonna call? Dam busters!**

**Disclaimer: **The evidence is both compelling and conclusive: BONES does not belong to me.

**A/N: Presenting the closing Epilogue... 'Tequila' has been a lot of fun to write. It represents a personal challenge that I set myself to produce around 1000 words a day of 'coherent' story for the Bones FF community. Eighteen days later, it ('tequila') lives, and almost has a life of its' own. The five time zones did present a small issue - I did have to silence my Blackberry at night.**

**To the many, many thousands of people who have visited this story, thank you – reading and lurking in the shadows is cool by me, because the stats are evidence of your presence. To the hundreds of people who have alerted, favourited, messaged, and particularly to those who took the time to write a review – my profound thanks to each and every one of you & a special shout out to MadDelight – this Epilogue is for you. **

Booth conceded that the twelve-year old had chosen the right analogy. The dam had broken, but not in the way that Sweets had thought it would. It wasn't a kiss, or a state of undress, or any of the numerous acts of love that he had willing participated in that night. The moment had occurred at the point when he had taken her outstretched hand and granted himself permission to go forward without placing a wager on the outcome.

* * *

Booth and Brennan had been walking along the long curved top wall of that dam for years now. Sometimes the top of the wall was solid and smooth, at other times it was treacherous, and it had been in various states of repair over that time. On one side of this wall that they walked along, was a long descent to the depths of loneliness, with a small controlled stream of potential happiness for their futures. On the other side of the wall lay the cool, dark, little known depths of their collective passion for their work, life and ultimately each other. The cumulative pressure of all that the dam wall contained was enormous and potent, they were right to fear it because it created a synergy that was bigger than either one of them combined.

The first crack in the dam appeared as their fingers touched. As the cab drove them back to her place, they tried to ignore the small quakes and tremors that warned of an imminent breach. The ten minute ride was outwardly silent. In the cocoon formed by the backseat of a yellow cab they simply sat within the circle of each others' arms; looking, caressing, touching, and simply allowing themselves to be in all those moments that had fallen outside the line which formed the guard rail along the top of the dam.

Upon arrival at her apartment building the temperature had dropped another five degrees, or perhaps the heat between them had raised by a corresponding amount, Booth could not tell. He paid the cab fare. She fished the keys out of her bag. They both entered the elevator, his arm over her shoulder, her arm around his waist. As the doors closed they were cocooned again. As she turned her body into face his in a standing embrace, Brennan had something that she needed to share.

"You know it will be hard for me to change. You have to know that I _want _to change, because I want you."

Booth squeezed her against his chest so that she could hear and feel his voice.

"I know that Bones. I'll be there with you, just like always, every step of the way. Y'know, you don't need to change a whole bunch. The things that make you...you, are what make you so special."

"I'm not sure what that means..." she faltered.

"It means that your heart is more open than you know Bones."

"Oh..." she realised, as the elevator pinged at her floor and the doors opened onto her hallway. The dam wall cracked. High pressure jets of the depths contained behind the wall sprayed forth carrying the detritus of delays and denial.

There was no turning back.

* * *

The moment that her apartment door slammed shut, they were caught in the maelstrom. Brennan dropped her bag and keys to the floor, which made a noise similar to a starting pistol. Like Pavlov's dog, Booth responded, and he had Brennan pinned to the door in a hungry kiss before she had even decided what to do next. The taste and aroma of the tequila that they had used as the catalyst in their experiment served to confirm and remind them of just why they were here, without the need for words. This was fortunate, because their tongues were currently engaged in the glossal smack down of the century.

Brennan grabbed his _Cocky _belt buckle and used every remaining erg of her dexterity to remove it and the belt, because tonight it was part of the wall. It dropped to the floor and was swept downstream with the small flood from the breaking dam. Booth responded by simply breaking the kiss and picking Bones up and carrying her directly to her bedroom. His chivalry had just been swept downstream. He was caught in the powerful current, heading toward that _somewhere_ that he had always known they would go to. Booth surrendered.

Brennan, however, was still making a few desperate strokes of control against the breaking dam, it was counterintuitive but instinctive.

"Booth! Your back! I'm heavy" protested Brennan as he picked her up.

He gave her a cocky grin. "Want me to guess your weight Bones?" he asked.

"No thank you" she replied primly, as he pushed open her bedroom door with his shoulder. It would be unnecessary conjecture, and she would provide him with accurate data if he really needed to know.

As he placed her on her bed and settled himself above her, with a charm smile on his face. "You'll still fix my back for me Bones? Any time I need it?" he wheedled.

She locked eyes with him and placed her palms on either side of his face. Feeling herself being dragged along in the direction that she wanted so much, yet feared so irrationally, Brennan concluded that she must face her fears. But with Booth by her side, she did not need to face those fears alone. It was logical to let go of this irrationality, and so she surrendered to her newborn open heart.

"I will fix anything that you want me to. All you have to do is ask..." replied Brennan in a husky tone, in the key of sensual. The roar of the flood from the decimated dam became their collective passion for each other in that moment.

"Oh, I'm askin' baby!" said Booth into her hair as he started nibbling at her earlobe and attacking the fastenings of her clothes with his hands.

"Don't call me baby!" retorted Brennan as she grabbed his shirt. Buttons popped off and scattered in all directions. She chuckled as Booths' head popped up.

"Hey!", as he took the opportunity to frantically divest himself of items of clothing and assist Brennan with hers, which led to slapping away of hands and a light tussle ensuing. Booth kissed her into breathless submission; it was time for him to get handsy. Revenge was sweet – he intended to prove it.

* * *

"You have extremely pleasing musculature Booth" commented Brennan, as their mutual exploration of each other continued.

"Temperance? Are you saying that you think I'm hot?" teased Booth

"Absolutely," she confirmed with a slightly lopsided smile, indicating that there was going to be an additional request. "So you won't mind if I request page 187? I did write it with you in mind after all. Do you remember how it goes Booth?"

"Easy as pie Bones" he quipped.

"But I don't like p..." she began, as Booth smothered her mouth with his own.

* * *

Temperance Brennan would not require any outside inspiration for the sex scenes in her next book. In fact, she seriously considered making an amendment to the manuscript with her publisher before the paperback was released. It worked even better Booths' way...or perhaps this was one of those things that should just belong to them. She smiled to herself at the thought of that as she curled up against the sprawled slumbering body of Seeley Booth, and hooked a leg over his. She felt more wanted and loved than she could ever recall, not realising that these were the seeds of change germinating within her. And that could be categorised as irony.

* * *

**The Royal Diner – next morning**

Booth and Brennan were sat at their usual table. However, there were a few changes this morning. They were not bickering as usual and both were wearing dark sunglasses. The waitress arrived with a pot of coffee and poured it into their empty cups. She glanced at their fingers intertwined over the laminated tabletop and smiled because she was going to win fifty bucks from the manager.

"Rough night, huh?" commented the waitress, as the partners as they thanked her for the coffee refill.

"You could say that" replied Booth, as she walked away.

Brennan stirred sugar into her black coffee and unlaced her fingers to tap on the back of Booths' hand.

"Do want some more Tylenol?" she asked with a small smile.

"No thanks, I'm all good" replied Booth, reweaving their fingers together absently. "Drinking that much tequila has a cost Bones. It's a price I'm willing to pay for the payout that we got on the experiment"

"I agree." She said in an exaggerated stage whisper. "A successful outcome...and the sex was fantastic."

Booth groaned and smiled in defeat, as guffaws and scattered sniggers were smothered by their fellow diners.

**Fin**

**A/N: My next fic is in the pipeline. It is called "The Rings in the Heart" – I hope to see you all there!**


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